


Circuit

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: All New X-Factor, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Racing, Formula One AU, M/M, Serious Injuries, quickbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team manager introduced Pietro Maximoff as the fastest person alive. Remy took one look at the young man and thought, that kid doesn't have a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circuit

**Author's Note:**

> So this takes elements from Rush and Senna, because the only things I know about formula one racing come from those two films. They're both great, by the way, you should watch them. I was watching Senna on a plane ride last night and they called him the fastest man alive at one point. Which immediately reminded me of Quicksilver. So. 
> 
> Also, the uniforms would be like a racing version of the Serval uniforms the team wear in All-New X-Factor. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The team manager introduced Pietro Maximoff as the fastest person alive. Remy took one look at the young man with white hair, tall and thin and thought, that European kid doesn't have a chance. A year later at the world championships, he was eating his words. And Pietro Maximoff was, indeed, the fastest man alive. 

Then he got put on Remy's team. 

*

Pietro stuck out his hand and gave Remy a very obviously forced smile. “It's a pleasure to be on your team,” he said. 

“I'm sure.” Remy shook the slender hand. “And by that I mean, we're gonna resent each other when the time comes ta compete. Racing ain't a team sport.” 

“If we get first and second every race, our team will be the best,” Pietro said. His eyes flicked over Remy, up-down in a second, as if that was all the time he needed to assess his teammate. “You should find second a comfortable position, both for the team and your career.” And then he turned and left. 

Remy stood there, and Lorna, the woman who'd become part of the many people that made up their support, tapped him on the shoulder as she walked by and said, “Your mouth's open.” 

Remy clamped his mouth shut and didn't open it again for an hour. Nothing good would have come out. 

*

“So, are you his girlfriend?” 

Lorna glared at Remy over the car currently being serviced. Remy called it his baby. Lorna called it weird. “I should hit you for that. Ew. No.” 

“Sorry, most of the ladies here--”

“Don't finish that sentence.” Lorna waited to make sure Remy wasn't going to test her. Then she said, “I'm his half-sister.” 

“Oh.” Remy didn't have siblings, so he wasn't sure what that was like. Just a father who was occasionally proud and mostly absent, and a group of friends who could stand in as siblings given how much they cheered him on. 

“Oh,” Lorna smirked. “He's also got a twin sister. Wanda. Off limits. She's got a career so she probably won't stop by much anyway.” 

“I didn't say anything,” Remy said. He grinned. “Are you off limits?” 

“I don't think it'd be very good for the team,” Lorna said, tossing her long, green hair over her shoulder. 

“What about you?” Remy asked. “You got a career?” 

“I'm taking a break,” Lorna said. “Was studying. This is more fun. And Pietro needs me. Not that he'll ever admit it.” 

“Really?” 

“He's one of those people that needs approval.” 

Remy frowned. “Aren't we all?” 

*

The first three races of the season, Pietro won. Remy came in second. He had no idea how Pietro completed laps so quickly. Part of it seemed calculated, and their sponsor, Harrison Snow, remarked that Pietro was very intelligent. But then there were times where Pietro would cut someone off, or go for a too-narrow opening, or clip the edge of the track, and it seemed like recklessness. 

“You're good,” Remy said over drinks the night after their third race. He'd invited Pietro into his hotel room and had splayed himself on the bed with the bottle of champagne. Pietro was sitting in a chair at the opposite end of the room, occasionally sipping from a glass. 

“I'm the fastest man alive,” Pietro said. 

“Ever think about why?” 

“Are you a psychologist?” Pietro's eyes seemed like ice. “Every reporter asks that question. 'Why do you participate in such a dangerous sport?' Maybe the answer is as simple as I like going fast. Everything else is too slow.” 

“But why?” Remy pressed. He felt warm and pleasant. “Why do you like going fast?” 

“Why do you?” Pietro countered. 

“Are you fast at everything?” 

“I have an above average IQ,” Pietro told him. 

“And in bed?” 

Pietro glared. “Don't be ridiculous.” 

“Is that a no or a you aren't going ta answer that question?” 

“It's an I don't care,” Pietro said. “Your fixation with bedding everyone you meet is beyond me.” 

“I don't bed everyone I meet,” Remy said, sitting up. “I haven't bedded your sister.” 

Pietro closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can we not talk about Lorna?” 

“Fine.” Remy swung his legs over the side of the bed and perched there for a moment. Pietro had turned his attention to his half-full glass of champagne, and he didn't notice Remy crossing the room until Remy was standing over him, hands on his hips. 

“What?” Pietro snapped, looking up at him, clearly annoyed. 

“You're so uptight,” Remy said. “Loosen up a little.”

“We're in the middle of competition season,” Pietro said. “Even though we're on the same team, we're competing against each other. I will loosen up when the season is over.” 

“But only if you've won,” Remy said. 

“Isn't that why we're doing this?” Pietro asked. “Otherwise what's the point?” 

“Because you love speed,” Remy suggested. “You said that, not me. After all, not everyone who races wins. But some people keep on doing it anyway.” 

Pietro stood up. They were too close, but Remy didn't have a concept of personal space when he was tipsy. 

“I am not one to waste time,” Pietro said.

“How about this.” Remy licked his lips. “How about you don't think of me as the competition?” 

Pietro's lips parted, and he exhaled, clearly at a loss for words. Remy thought he looked rather cute like that. If cute was the right word. Cute in the same way a disgruntled cat looked right before it attacked. But Remy had never been good at backing off, and he didn't now. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Pietro's lips. 

The noise Pietro made was delightful enough to make Remy grin without meaning to. But then he pushed Remy away. Remy staggered a bit. “C'mon, can't we--?” 

“No!” Pietro looked horrified. “You don't even know anything about me. And we're on a team. In the middle of the season. I can't—is this a plan to sabotage me?” 

“How romantic,” Remy said, rolling his eyes. “I can see why people are lining up ta date you. And no, but it'd be nice ta be with someone who understood, for once, what my life is like. Everyone else--” 

“Not while we're on the same team,” Pietro hissed. “Certainly not in the middle of the season. What were you thinking?”

“You're talented and cute and need ta relax,” Remy supplied. “And I do know something about you. You like going fast.” 

Pietro made a choking noise, swiped a hand through his hair, and stalked past Remy. The door slammed. 

Remy sighed and sat down on the bed. 

It'd been spur of the moment, but he found himself wanting a relationship now that he couldn't have it. And in the days after, he found that whenever he thought of Pietro, he got the same feeling he had when he'd been drinking the champagne. 

He hadn't had that feeling in a long time. He shouldn't have had that feeling about Pietro, who was standoffish and tightly-wound and everything Remy wasn't. 

But he did. Of course he did. 

*

“Each race he beats you by a larger margin,” Lorna told him after the tenth race of the season. It had been raining, and not even that made Pietro slow down. 

Pietro was now being questioned by reporters. He hated that part. Remy could tell now by the way the corners of his mouth were taught, by the clenching and unclenching of his left hand at his side, where no one was looking. By the way he rushed off as soon as possible. 

Remy had been trading off second and third places with a couple of other racers. But he was still doing well. Still holding his own. 

Another racer would've been pissed off that their teammate was taking their spotlight away. Remy just went with it. He'd had his championship, and most people didn't even get one. And he still got to race, and still got paid. And top five wasn't bad. 

“There's a limit to how fast you can go, how far you can push these cars,” Lorna said, glancing at Pietro and the reporters. “Pietro seems determined to break it.” 

Remy tilted his head to the side. “Are you worried?” He'd never heard Lorna be worried. Most of the time she complained about how much of a pain in the ass Pietro was. And when she wasn't complaining, her and Pietro would go for walks and talk in quiet voices. Lorna was the only person Remy had seen Pietro give a genuine, un-strained smile. 

“Pushing boundaries and breaking records is great for the sport, but it's not without risk. There's a reason not everyone does it,” Lorna said. “It's a dangerous game he's playing. Even if I know why he's playing it.” 

“Why?” 

Lorna sighed. “He couldn't live with himself if he didn't.” 

“Why?” Remy asked, leaning closer to her. 

But Lorna was distracted. Pietro had managed to duck away from the reporters, and she'd gone after him. 

*

“He's not watching. He didn't watch last year.” 

Remy wasn't supposed to hear the conversation. He'd gone out for a smoke because he couldn't sleep, and found Lorna and Pietro outside, talking in the parking lot, sitting at the edge of the sidewalk. Remy had hidden himself around the corner of the outer walkway of their hotel. He wasn't going to put out his cigarette just after he'd lit it. 

“He doesn't want to admit that he was wrong,” Pietro said. “Otherwise he would've sent a message. Congratulations. Like a normal person--”

“Pietro--”

“He loves you, Lorna,” Pietro said quietly. “But he doesn't love me. I doubt he even likes me. I'm useless. I can only go fast.”

“That's not true,” Lorna said. “You're really good at being a jerk.” 

“Thanks,” Pietro muttered, ducking his head. 

“Anyway, if he's not paying attention to you, don't pay attention to him,” Lorna said. “You're not doing it for him.” 

“No, I'm not,” Pietro said. “Not anymore. Not that I am easier to please.” 

“Wanda's coming to the next race,” Lorna said. “She can watch you win. And she'll tell you how good you were after.” 

Remy put out his cigarette. The two continued talking, but he was done listening. He walked back to his room, sat on his bed, and thought. 

*

Pietro was pretty much guaranteed the championship if Remy didn't finish the race. If Remy did finish the race, but Pietro finished first, Pietro would still be champion. Some other racers would try to purposefully do damage within the race to make sure a rival didn't finish if their not finishing guaranteed them a win. Remy trusted Pietro not to, trusted him to do it fairly. That was more than he'd thought of any previous teammate so far. 

It was raining, the track slick. Pietro was bouncing on the balls of his feet just outside his trailer, Remy smoking a few feet away, when he saw a woman with curly hair wearing red rushing towards his teammate. 

“Piet--” he got out, but the woman threw her arms around Pietro before he could finish. 

And to Remy's complete surprise, Pietro returned the gesture, grinning into the woman's shoulder. “Wanda!” he cried, and it all made sense. 

Wanda was the second person Remy had seen Pietro smile for. 

His smile was, to use a word Remy rarely used and one that was shocking him as he watched the siblings hug, lovely. 

One more race, he thought. And then they could try again. 

*

In the car, there was nothing but the track and the roar of the engine. There wasn't room for anything else, not when you were concentrating on going as fast as possible without dying. Remy fell into a nice pattern, though, where he had gotten a feel for the circuit. He was in third, playing it safe until the end because of the rain. 

A piece of metal in the middle of the track broke the pattern. 

Remy avoided it, only to find more pieces, like a trail. They led to a tire, and then Remy turned a corner, catching a glimpse of smoke, and kept going. 

A few seconds later a man appeared in front of him, waving a red flag. 

Remy crossed the finish line and came to a stop. Immediately his crew was around him, helping him out. 

He saw Lorna first. Her face was pale, drawn. He wanted to stop walking towards her, because if he stopped, he wouldn't find out what happened. And he'd be able to think whatever he wanted. But his feet kept going until he was right in front of her, and he was asking “What happened?” 

And Lorna said, “Pietro crashed.” 

*

“How does it feel to be world champion for the second time?”

“Fucking awful because my teammate almost died and that's the only reason why I'm holding this fucking trophy,” Remy did not say. But he wanted to. 

Wanda had sobbed into Lorna's shoulder when they airlifted Pietro off the track. Lorna's tears were silent. She'd been shaking. Later that night she'd yelled, throwing all the pillows in Remy's room before collapsing onto his bed. “He lost,” she'd screamed. 

Then she'd left to go comfort Wanda. 

Remy hadn't even seen the crash but he dreamed of cars skidding off circuits and exploding when they hit the wall, the driver thrown like a rag doll onto the grass. 

*

A gash across the left cheek, stitched up because it'd gone straight through to the other side. Several broken ribs. A collapsed lung. A broken collar bone. Heavy bruising everywhere. Internal bleeding. A concussion. A coma that lasted a week. 

Remy waited two weeks before visiting. 

Pietro was awake, but not particularly aware. He was drugged, and weak, and still in pain. But when he saw Remy he rasped, “Congratulations.” 

“You idiot,” Remy choked. But he couldn't say anything else because Pietro passed out. 

*

“I might have to find another member of the team,” Snow told him over the phone. 

“I don't want ta be on a team with anyone else,” Remy said. “If that's the case, then I'll leave Serval.” He hung up. 

It was only a few minutes later that he realized that if Snow listened to him, Pietro would still be racing. He shouldn't have wanted that. 

But they were both the same. They were both stupid enough to watch a dead body get lifted out of a destroyed formula one car and then decide to go faster than that guy the same day. 

*

They gave Pietro three months to recover. Three months of bedrest followed by taking it easy for “a long time.” 

Pietro gave himself a week after those three months before he was back at his car. Remy found him in the garage. 

They'd never talked about whether Pietro would quit. But Remy hadn't thought he'd see Pietro back so soon. 

Pietro was holding his helmet. 

“What are you doing?” Remy asked. 

Pietro turned to him. “I can't let you be the fastest man in the world. It's a detriment to the sport.” 

“Thanks,” Remy muttered. He noticed that Pietro's hands were shaking as he lifted the helmet up and over his head. “You sure--?”

“Shut up,” Pietro said, his voice muffled as he pulled the helmet down. Underneath the visor, Pietro looked uncertain. Pale. A little sick. A scar ran down his left cheek, made it look like his skin was still broken and ready to bleed. 

He'd never looked anything but at home in that helmet before now. 

Remy moved forward and placed his hands on either side of the helmet. His lips brushed Pietro's, and he could feel Pietro's breath, a bit ragged, against his skin. 

“I'm still the fastest man alive” Pietro murmured. 

They locked eyes. “Prove it.” 

Pietro grinned.


End file.
